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odditycollector Jun. 14th, 2004 03:00 pm)
odditycollector Jun. 14th, 2004 03:00 pm)So, as I informed everyone last night, I found the DCU random plot generator.
And one of the things it gave me was Bart Allen and/or Jim Gordon ...watch porn together.
And, um. This takes place before... Impulse #50 (I think), in which, iirc, Impulse follows Gordon around and Gordon's all, Go away. I've never seen you before in my life.
It was almost the end of his shift, but Jim Gordon sat in his office, shifting through some evidence. He had already read the summary for the hotel’s check-in log, and was now watching the security tape from the elevator.
A woman with a hairnet and a tiny poodle stepped in, pressed a button, and stared blankly at the doors. Jim squinted at her face and moved to press the save frame button on his remote control, and a sudden gust of wind blew up behind him, pulling at his sweater and messing up the case files on the desk beside him.
Jim spun around, but the window was closed and there didn’t seem to be anyone standing in the shadows. He flicked on the room lights just to be sure, and then shut them back off, frowning.
He turned back to the screen, and… there it was again, whipping around his desk like a localized hurricane. Jim grabbed a yard stick that was lying against the wall and, after watching the air for a moment to get a sense of timing, thrust it towards the desk, forcing whatever it was to slow down long enough for him to get a handful of – hair?
The boy pouted at him and complained, “Ow.”
Jim frowned. “Huh. You're... Impulse, right?”
“Yeah.” He tried to move again, and his hair pulled against Jim’s fist. “Can you let go now? Because that’s my hair and it kind of hurts.” He blinked. “Only not my hair, because hair doesn’t hurt but my head is starting.” He looked up with big, blank eyes and blinked a little too rapidly for Jim to hold the gaze.
He let go of Impulse’s hair, and the boy smoothed it back into place. Jim wondered distractedly what kind of hair product still worked at three hundred mph.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“I was looking for Robin,” said Impulse.
“Here?”
“Yeah! ‘Cause Robin lives in Gotham.” His eyes trailed to one side. “I think.”
Jim stared. “And you thought you’d find him in my office?”
“Um,” said the boy. “No?” There was a sudden breeze, and Impulse was gone.
Jim shook his head and turned back to the tape. The woman with the little dog left the elevator, and two men in business suits stepped in. Jim watched as they travelled two and a half stories down. They shared a quick glance, and one of them pulled the elevator stop. Jim made sure the computer took a good copy of their faces.
“Hey!” said a voice from behind him. “I thought of a plan!”
Jim grimaced, but made sure he schooled his features into mere irritation before he turned around. Impulse was grinning proudly. “We could turn on the Batsignal,” he said. “And then Robin would come to us! And then he’d be really easy to find!”
“The Batsignal,” Jim ground out, “is not a toy.”
“I know,” said Impulse. “But I’m a Superhero! And it’s a good plan, and it would work. And I’ve never seen the Batsignal before, and it would be so cool and can we please?”
“No,” said Jim. He ran his hands over his face, and Impulse giggled.
“You look like Max when you do that,” he said. Jim felt a sudden surge of sympathy for whoever Max might be.
Impulse started to say something else, but then he shifted his gaze to something behind Jim. "What are they doing?” he said.
Jim looked back at the screen. One of the men had pushed the other against the elevator wall and was whispering in his ear. Judging by their grins, he wasn’t saying anything that should be repeated in polite company.
“Now what are they doing?” said Impulse. “Are they switching clothes?” And then: “Don’t they know how to undress themselves?”
Jim reached for the remote to shut off the display, but before his fingers could close, it disappeared.
Impulse was holding it. “I was watching that,” he said petulantly.
Jim scowled and moved towards Impulse with the intention of removing him bodily from his office, but the boy vanished and reappeared several feet away, sitting on Jim’s desk.
Impulse kicked his feet and stared at the screen with a hollow eyed intentness. The men were nearly naked now, and the one against the wall was getting his nipple thoroughly licked by his partner. It looked like a great deal of moaning was going on, although the security camera didn’t pick up sound; the man against the wall shifted, and the other dropped into a kneeling position and started licking lower.
Jim reached behind the screen and pulled the power; but there was a telltale whoosh of air and the plug was back in the wall. He glared at Impulse, but the boy gave no impression of having moved. Jim debated switching on the Batsignal after all. A metahuman nuisance in Gotham was usually a job for the Batman, but Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life knowing Batman was laughing at him underneath his cape.
On the screen, the kneeling man had pushed aside his partner’s underwear – boxers, part of Jim’s brain catalogued frantically, silk – and now curled his tongue around the head of the penis. The other man arched his back against the wall, breathing desperately, and Jim's pants were suddenly too tight. He closed his eyes and reminded himself he was watching an evidence tape in the company of a barely pubescent boy and then, when that failed, to concentrate for a few moments on the Joker.
“Oh!” said Impulse suddenly. “I get it now. This is a sex thing, isn’t it?”
“A sex thing,” repeated Jim.
“Uh-huh,” said Impulse. “We learned about sex in school. That’s when you have a man and the man has a penis and, um, condoms –”
“I know what sex is!” Jim roared, and then fervently hoped everyone else on the floor had already gone home.
“But they never said it could work like that. Mr. MacTyre taught us sex-ed even though the girls got to have Ms. Prizne, which was so unfair….”
Impulse babbled on about the merits of a co-ed education, while Jim’s horrified ears slowly passed the information to his brain. And then Jim smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, but you couldn’t work for years with a man without learning some of his expressions, even a man who covered the top half of his face with a cowl.
“Mr. MacTyre?” said Jim pleasantly. “Your teacher?”
Impulse rambled for a few more sentences, and then he seemed to choke on his words. His eyes widened in horror.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! Arrgh! Max is going to kill me!”
He vanished, but before Jim could sag in relief he was back again.
“Please don’t tell Max! Please!” Gone. Back. “Please! He’ll kill me! You’ll be responsible for my murder!”
Which didn’t seem like such a terrible possibility, but Jim said, “I’ll tell you what. How about we both pretend tonight never happened?”
Impulse nodded very quickly.
“Good,” said Jim. “Then everything is forgotten. On one condition.”
Impulse stopped nodding, and just stared.
“You leave right now.”
The force of the wind Impulse left in his wake was so strong it scattered folders and nearly knocked Jim over. He went to his desk and collapsed in his chair, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up again, the blow job in the elevator was over, and the kneeling man was slowly getting up, tracing patterns of come on his partner’s abdomen.
Jim looked about for the remote, but it wasn’t to be found. Probably the kid had run off with it – There was another gust of air, and the remote clattered to his desk.
Right then.
Jim shut the display off. He took out the tape and, after fingering it for a moment, locked it in his desk. He would have to watch it again tomorrow… for evidence purposes, of course.
Jim grabbed his jacket and headed towards home and a nice, long, cold shower.
So, I'll leave it up to you to scream and run away and burn your computer.
And one of the things it gave me was Bart Allen and/or Jim Gordon ...watch porn together.
And, um. This takes place before... Impulse #50 (I think), in which, iirc, Impulse follows Gordon around and Gordon's all, Go away. I've never seen you before in my life.
It was almost the end of his shift, but Jim Gordon sat in his office, shifting through some evidence. He had already read the summary for the hotel’s check-in log, and was now watching the security tape from the elevator.
A woman with a hairnet and a tiny poodle stepped in, pressed a button, and stared blankly at the doors. Jim squinted at her face and moved to press the save frame button on his remote control, and a sudden gust of wind blew up behind him, pulling at his sweater and messing up the case files on the desk beside him.
Jim spun around, but the window was closed and there didn’t seem to be anyone standing in the shadows. He flicked on the room lights just to be sure, and then shut them back off, frowning.
He turned back to the screen, and… there it was again, whipping around his desk like a localized hurricane. Jim grabbed a yard stick that was lying against the wall and, after watching the air for a moment to get a sense of timing, thrust it towards the desk, forcing whatever it was to slow down long enough for him to get a handful of – hair?
The boy pouted at him and complained, “Ow.”
Jim frowned. “Huh. You're... Impulse, right?”
“Yeah.” He tried to move again, and his hair pulled against Jim’s fist. “Can you let go now? Because that’s my hair and it kind of hurts.” He blinked. “Only not my hair, because hair doesn’t hurt but my head is starting.” He looked up with big, blank eyes and blinked a little too rapidly for Jim to hold the gaze.
He let go of Impulse’s hair, and the boy smoothed it back into place. Jim wondered distractedly what kind of hair product still worked at three hundred mph.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“I was looking for Robin,” said Impulse.
“Here?”
“Yeah! ‘Cause Robin lives in Gotham.” His eyes trailed to one side. “I think.”
Jim stared. “And you thought you’d find him in my office?”
“Um,” said the boy. “No?” There was a sudden breeze, and Impulse was gone.
Jim shook his head and turned back to the tape. The woman with the little dog left the elevator, and two men in business suits stepped in. Jim watched as they travelled two and a half stories down. They shared a quick glance, and one of them pulled the elevator stop. Jim made sure the computer took a good copy of their faces.
“Hey!” said a voice from behind him. “I thought of a plan!”
Jim grimaced, but made sure he schooled his features into mere irritation before he turned around. Impulse was grinning proudly. “We could turn on the Batsignal,” he said. “And then Robin would come to us! And then he’d be really easy to find!”
“The Batsignal,” Jim ground out, “is not a toy.”
“I know,” said Impulse. “But I’m a Superhero! And it’s a good plan, and it would work. And I’ve never seen the Batsignal before, and it would be so cool and can we please?”
“No,” said Jim. He ran his hands over his face, and Impulse giggled.
“You look like Max when you do that,” he said. Jim felt a sudden surge of sympathy for whoever Max might be.
Impulse started to say something else, but then he shifted his gaze to something behind Jim. "What are they doing?” he said.
Jim looked back at the screen. One of the men had pushed the other against the elevator wall and was whispering in his ear. Judging by their grins, he wasn’t saying anything that should be repeated in polite company.
“Now what are they doing?” said Impulse. “Are they switching clothes?” And then: “Don’t they know how to undress themselves?”
Jim reached for the remote to shut off the display, but before his fingers could close, it disappeared.
Impulse was holding it. “I was watching that,” he said petulantly.
Jim scowled and moved towards Impulse with the intention of removing him bodily from his office, but the boy vanished and reappeared several feet away, sitting on Jim’s desk.
Impulse kicked his feet and stared at the screen with a hollow eyed intentness. The men were nearly naked now, and the one against the wall was getting his nipple thoroughly licked by his partner. It looked like a great deal of moaning was going on, although the security camera didn’t pick up sound; the man against the wall shifted, and the other dropped into a kneeling position and started licking lower.
Jim reached behind the screen and pulled the power; but there was a telltale whoosh of air and the plug was back in the wall. He glared at Impulse, but the boy gave no impression of having moved. Jim debated switching on the Batsignal after all. A metahuman nuisance in Gotham was usually a job for the Batman, but Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life knowing Batman was laughing at him underneath his cape.
On the screen, the kneeling man had pushed aside his partner’s underwear – boxers, part of Jim’s brain catalogued frantically, silk – and now curled his tongue around the head of the penis. The other man arched his back against the wall, breathing desperately, and Jim's pants were suddenly too tight. He closed his eyes and reminded himself he was watching an evidence tape in the company of a barely pubescent boy and then, when that failed, to concentrate for a few moments on the Joker.
“Oh!” said Impulse suddenly. “I get it now. This is a sex thing, isn’t it?”
“A sex thing,” repeated Jim.
“Uh-huh,” said Impulse. “We learned about sex in school. That’s when you have a man and the man has a penis and, um, condoms –”
“I know what sex is!” Jim roared, and then fervently hoped everyone else on the floor had already gone home.
“But they never said it could work like that. Mr. MacTyre taught us sex-ed even though the girls got to have Ms. Prizne, which was so unfair….”
Impulse babbled on about the merits of a co-ed education, while Jim’s horrified ears slowly passed the information to his brain. And then Jim smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, but you couldn’t work for years with a man without learning some of his expressions, even a man who covered the top half of his face with a cowl.
“Mr. MacTyre?” said Jim pleasantly. “Your teacher?”
Impulse rambled for a few more sentences, and then he seemed to choke on his words. His eyes widened in horror.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! Arrgh! Max is going to kill me!”
He vanished, but before Jim could sag in relief he was back again.
“Please don’t tell Max! Please!” Gone. Back. “Please! He’ll kill me! You’ll be responsible for my murder!”
Which didn’t seem like such a terrible possibility, but Jim said, “I’ll tell you what. How about we both pretend tonight never happened?”
Impulse nodded very quickly.
“Good,” said Jim. “Then everything is forgotten. On one condition.”
Impulse stopped nodding, and just stared.
“You leave right now.”
The force of the wind Impulse left in his wake was so strong it scattered folders and nearly knocked Jim over. He went to his desk and collapsed in his chair, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up again, the blow job in the elevator was over, and the kneeling man was slowly getting up, tracing patterns of come on his partner’s abdomen.
Jim looked about for the remote, but it wasn’t to be found. Probably the kid had run off with it – There was another gust of air, and the remote clattered to his desk.
Right then.
Jim shut the display off. He took out the tape and, after fingering it for a moment, locked it in his desk. He would have to watch it again tomorrow… for evidence purposes, of course.
Jim grabbed his jacket and headed towards home and a nice, long, cold shower.
So, I'll leave it up to you to scream and run away and burn your computer.
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From:
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Jim wondered distractedly what kind of hair product still worked at three hundred mph.
*choke*
And Bart wanting to turn on the Batsignal! And freaking over mentioning his teacher!
Now she ded from yay.
From:
no subject
Um, sorry? But, hey, the random generator killed me, so maybe we can get a group discount on funerals?
Glad you liked ('specially as I've never done DCU before)! It was either this or Bart and Poison Ivy meet a spankbot.
From:
no subject
It was well done, and yet....
From:
no subject
Yeah, I *know.*
From:
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From:
no subject
Glad you liked it.